


Garden of Devotion

by Ozma



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Hades bullying, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22662160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/pseuds/Ozma
Summary: Amaurot; Hades volunteers to aid preparations for theDay of Devotion,an event headed by his partner's mother: Halmarut.Unfortunately, Hades will never be good enough for Halmarut's beloved child and she intends to let him know at every opportunity.
Relationships: Background Hades/AmaurotineWoL
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Garden of Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> A request, with the specifics:  
> AmaurotineWoL is Persephone (gender neutral).  
> Halmarut's true name is Demeter, and therefore is Persephone's mother.  
> AmaurotineElidibus is Hermes, and therefore Demeter's son and Persephone's elder brother.
> 
> It was requested that Halmarut dislikes Hades and bullies him a bit. And by a bit I mean a lot.

Even through the morning’s seaside fog, he smells it: a chill both sweet to sharp, wafting throughout the city proper; its arrival is as much announcement of the upcoming festivities as the cycle’s change.

Ah yes, the _Day of Devotion_.

A day – the full moon’s cycle, in truth – of celebrating family and neighbors, trust and intimacy.

With firmness underlying chipperness, a casual efficiency that only comes from experience, _she_ leads the event’s development, her orders audible even outside its flawless floral walls.

Hades pauses and, a pace past him, Hythlodaeus follows suit, barely looking back as he offers a half shrug.

“Come now Hades, she’s not _that_ bad.”

Hades denies dignifying his ever-optimistic companion with a response.

 _By accepting individuals we’ve negative emotions for, we better ourselves, and through bettering ourselves, we better the star_ – a basic lesson for all children upon their first disagreement, one eventually taken to heart by every citizen in the city. Only for this day, for Persephone _,_ will Hades heed such time-worn adages.

Step by painful step, Hades approaches the grounds, nearing voices far too loud and excitable for such an early hour. No elaborate arrangements of reds fading to pinks and whites or dewdrops reflecting lamplight from each vibrant blossom makes his lover’s request worthwhile; his bed is warm and soft, the ground hard and cold, and if he’d a choice in the matter, Hades would sooner have naught to do with the preparations.

Busy volunteers working to make the event memorable scurry past the new arrivals and through the gardens at the whim of the curator: the Esteemed Halmarut – _“Demeter, little one.”_ she had patted young Hythlodaeus on the head at their introduction, but never offered Hades the same luxury; _Hades’_ first meeting had been after handing a flower to Halmarut’s beloved youngest child, Persephone – a flower he had unknowingly plucked from a newly blooming Queen.

Halmarut taps her notes rapidly, marking off any remaining tasks with absolute confidence; more excited than harried by the chaos, a few stray newcomers in the theatre are of little consequence to her.

“Esteemed Halmarut.” Hythlodaeus bows, drawing her attention.

“Dear, what have I told you about –“ The smile falls as quickly as it forms; Hades is come in place of her beloved Persephone.

 _Why are_ you _here?_ Is her displeased implication – a question Hades, too, continues to ask himself.

“Old man Lahabrea had an assignment. I was requested to help with the preparations while Persephone is busy.” He explains in mutual distaste.

_Requested._

At his side, Hythlodaeus bristles, but if he visited the Speaker's lab as frequently as Hades and Persephone, he’d say much the same.

Just, perhaps, not to the ‘old man’s’ colleague’s face.

Hades has never been one for restraint.

“I see.” She clearly does not, the hard set of Halmarut’s jaw revealing displeasure as much as her distant tone. “I’m sure I can find _some_ use for you.”

She raises her assignment sheet, browsing it quickly.

“Very well. Hythlodaeus, I need you to come with me, preparations in the northeastern quadrant are yet to be confirmed.” She turns to Hades. “ _You_ will stay here and check the dining area. I’m certain there won’t be any issues, but ‘twould not do to have any of the décor or tables fail midst the festivities. I expect it to be done by the time I return.”

How predictable, that she should send Hades to the dining area: the most central region in the park, where the festivities – and preparations – will be thickest, volunteers will be engaged in their tasks, calling to each other and otherwise disrupting any opportunity a curious onlooker or assistant might have to admire the festival’s beauty.

Offering a few brief flicks of his wrist as farewell, Hades turns, leaving the _irritatingly_ and knowingly smiling Hythlodaeus to his duties with Halmarut.

The less frequently they interact, the better.

As tedious and mundane as the role Hades has been assigned is – a last moment change of plans, Persephone’s absence confounding Halmarut’s preparation process – he recognizes its import. During the festivities, so many visitors using inadequate facilities is a recipe spelling disaster and so, without complaint, Hades sees to his assignment.

Up and down the rows, Hades observes the settings in length; on each, the concept has been followed perfectly. Kneeling and rising, he presses his hand and essence against each setting in search of potential vulnerabilities; again and again he repeats the process, until his knees ache, his thighs burn, and his back stiffens.

Without complaint, Hades completes his duty, even as light grunts turn to groans and rapid rises slow.

“Oh!” Between tables, an unfamiliar volunteer approaches; Hades greets with a wave, far too exhausted to offer more, the stranger smiling knowingly at his exhaustion. “Thank you for your efforts, but this area has been checked over already. We’ve plenty of volunteers working the park, why not test the outer quadrants?”

“I. . .see.” Hades blinks. Halmarut is not nearly so harried to send him here by mistake; she _knew_ what she was doing. “Thank you.”

The volunteer nods, returning to his business with casual steps, each overloud crunch on the grass a sparking the growing flames pounding in his head.

Halmarut _sabotages_ his attempts at aid.

As pulse turns to flare, Hades’ knees weaken, pained, burning muscles unwilling to bear the burden of his weight.

Desperation keeps Hades from collapse until the stranger is out of sight; hitting the bench hard, his head falls back onto the table, loose hood billowing into a makeshift pillow.

He does not care to right it.

The _Esteemed Halmarut of the Convocation of Fourteen_ has sent him on a pointless venture, just to keep him out of her hood.

Hades breathes deeply, blinding colors perpetually decorating his sight succumbing to darkness.

By checking the tables, he was doing the city a service.

He exhales, the burning in his limbs fading to persistent tingle.

There are other preparations Hades can see to.

He inhales, the waft of the gardens dancing until his head spins.

The birds’ chirps and distant voices muddle his senses, exhaustion at last overcoming rationality.

He’ll just take a short rest until he’s needed.

* * *

The blackness of the void fades as consciousness returns; even blocked by the slits of his mask, the midday’s bright light is painfully sharp on his exposed features.

_Tug. Tug._

A strange, persistent pull at his bang draws Hades’ attention and he winces, trying to get a better view at the disruption, swatting it away with a lazy hand and meeting only air.

_Tug. Tug._

The tug demands persistently, commanding attention over the patters roaming his lower face and shoulders.

_What. . .?_

Hades sits up; ignoring his swimming senses, he brushes at his face and chest.

_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE_

Screeches deafening enough to be heard on the other side of Amaurot sound as the scuffle of footfall flees his lap and shoulders; one particularly odorous addition struggles to escape his fallen hood as Hades readjusts his mask, seemingly having slipped out of place from intruders’ tugs.

A brief brush of his hand between pale strands reveals twined barbs, sharp, tiny, and thoroughly adamant in their refusal to be pulled or brushed out. He’ll need –

“Ahem.” From above, Halmarut clears her throat, condescending upon the disheveled mess below her.

Hades’ face contorts; leaving the barbs in his hair, he pulls up his hood to make himself presentable. If he’s to face Halmarut, he’d sooner do so with what little dignity she allows him.

"No matter how many others I might teach, my own child's choices yet err. Where did I. ." Halmarut’s murmur falls below hearing as she shakes her head.

“Esteemed Halmarut.” Hades grits the formal address, but his attentions are drawn away, attracted to the stray movement at her feet; the mandragoras, beloved creations, guardians of her babes, and terrors of Anyder hide behind their master’s robes, peeking at Hades with wide, oversized eyes revealing no intent. It seems Halmarut is at fault for his disheveled awakening as well, and he makes no attempt at hiding reawakened irritation. “Do you have any further assignments?”

She crosses her arms, silent and wholly unreadable in her perceived dedication, musing for long seconds before reaching a decision. Halmarut turns, motioning Hades follow. “That I do. Come.”

With determined certainty, Halmarut guides her charge. To each citizen that passes she offers a gentle nod or words of anticipation of praise, the weight in her shoulders slackening, the warmth in her tone once more soothing out the sharpest edges.

“How is Hythlodaeus?” Hades almost regrets disrupting her.

“Busy. Unlike you.” Clipped and sharp, the tightness in her demeanor returns.

They’re both to be miserable, then.

The remaining venture proves uneventful; Halmarut’s destination borders the sea, a collection of high-walled partitions ornamented by twined roses that, notably, are accompanied by oversized thorns.

A wholly fitting display.

“Sweet.” At the far wall, they approach a lone individual, seeing to his notes with smooth precision; Halmarut greets the individual with a simple, gentle affection. Grasping his hand, the single, affectionate title reveals exhaustion she dares not display publicly. “You remember Hades?”

 _Hermes;_ Halmarut’s elder son and Hades’ brother by law.

 _Of course_ Hermes remembers him, he shares meals with Hades and Persephone at least once per cycle. Hermes, blessedly, displays a tact Hythlodaeus or Hades lack, and offers but an acknowledging nod. “I do. What brings you here?” 

“I apologize for such a request when you’ve already taken on so many assignments, but Persephone’s absent and we still need to finalize the new attraction before it’s opened to guests.”

Hermes looks to Hades, understanding unspoken intent, smile never once leaving his features. “Very well. We’ll see to it, mother.”

“Thank you.” Hades little more than an afterthought, Halmarut at last explains her newest assignment, refusing to even turn to her unwilling assistant. “We’ve developed a new event - one that takes the measure of its participants’ devotion. You’re to test it, with Hermes as your companion. Though I cannot say I expect much, do at least attempt sufficiency. I _will_ be watching.”

With a dismissive flick of her wrist, Halmarut disappears around the corner, leaving the men to their preparations.

"How foolish." For a brief instant, Hermes’ smile falters, a disapproval in his demeanor similar enough to his family’s – to his _sibling’s_ \- that Hades immediately regrets his thoughtlessness.

“Persephone didn’t seem to think so, when designing the concept with mother.” With threat unspoken, Hermes blessedly avoids elaboration. He guides Hades to a far edge, where an arched passage decorated by a vibrant assortment of flora awaits, guarded by a small aetheryte. "The goal is simple: reach the maze’s end. Participants are linked to this aetheryte, that they may return to if they find themselves unable to continue.”

“Is it truly so dangerous?” If the event is a design of Persephone’s, perhaps Hades needn’t ask. Few can claim equivalent fondness for adventure.

Hermes’ smile is mysterious as he gestures for Hades’ entry.

The sooner he gets this over with, the sooner he can go home. 

Hades steps into the silent darkness that is the _Garden of Devotion_.

Step by cautious step, Hades observes his surroundings; the sun blotted by the garden’s impenetrable roof, what little light exists is a product of infrequent bioluminescence and stray, dim lanterns covered in tangles of bramble that dot waist-high walls.

One breath – his.  
Two breaths – Hermes.

A third, harsh pant, slower and deeper, almost a groan –

“Well then, shall we?” Though Hades can barely see him, he’s certain Hermes wears that same unreadably neutral smile.

Hades nods, pushing the third breath from his mind as he steps forward.

A step that proves futile; glancing down, a long, thin tendril – nay, it’s thick enough to be called a tentacle – encircles his ankle, small barbs allowing it to easily grasp the material of their traditional attire.

 _That_ certainly wasn’t there before.

A low breath growls the edge of Hades’ senses, quiet enough that he’s uncertain if it’s delusion or truly present.

Hades shivers, untwining the vine and approaching the unperturbed and, more importantly, _safe_ Hermes at the path’s center.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Following in Hermes’ wake, the pair avoids the thorns, tendrils, and barbs at the garden’s edge, their foes instead large, gnarly roots and bramble patches that seek to claim a part of their robes for themselves.

The low breath exhales.

He needs not doubt; _something_ lurks in the darkness. Taking a long step forward, Hades lifts his hand to Hermes’ shoulder in warning -

Before Hades can react, a giant mass sweeps the garden, separating him from his companion; Hades stumbles back, falling onto the ground sending a sharp spike of pain up his rear and back, his hands pierced by a score of tiny, loose brambles, but seemingly otherwise unharmed.

Hermes is not so lucky; an overlarge red blossom slithers from the rooftop in his place, its petals a cavernous maw thick and large enough to –

Squirming black boots pressed tightly together are the only evidence of Hermes’ presence as he struggles to free himself from the flower’s confines; wriggling and grunting against its “mouth” as it attempts to digest its newest prey, its heavy breaths are loud and uneven as it battles its unwieldly dinner.

 _This can’t be happening;_ Halmarut has gone too far. Hades pushes himself from the ground, diving at the blossom, pulling its petals apart and freeing his brother by law from the gaping pitcher.

“A-are you well?” A fool question to ask when Hermes is slicked wet with digestive fluids, but he takes it in stride, as he does most everything, patting Hades on the shoulder.

“I’m fine, my thanks.” Amusement tinges his tone, a playful tease that Hades can hardly believe, the gentle shaking of Hermes' shoulders in chuckle only solidifying his suspicions.

Hermes _allowed_ himself be caught.

 _Of course._ If this garden is his family’s concept, he undoubtedly took part in its creation; he knows what to expect, for he created its inhabitants.

Hermes plays Hades for a fool.

His fists clench, but with a temperance worthy of Deudalaphon, Hades wisely bites his tongue; no matter the eccentricity of his partner’s family, he’s no other choice but to progress.

Slowly, and perhaps less amicably than before, Hades and Hermes journey along the garden's outer edges, careful not to stray too near the thorns and tendrils, or too far, lest they end up in the flower’s domain.

With its creators in mind, Hades more easily recognizes their employed tactics: the pleasant smelling blossom is inevitably bound to release an unpleasant musk upon all who approach; a bright, vibrant bloom will hypnotize by releasing weak dream powders – and, of course, the tentacles ready to snatch away the boots of the unwary.

Halmarut’s garden is nearer to nightmares than dreams.

With each progressive avoidance, Hades swears Hermes slightly slumps in disappointment, but with Hermes' restraint - he's as irritatingly private as his sibling - Hades can’t be quite certain.

The passage of hours loses meaning in the garden’s darkness, but at long last the roof’s thick bramble thins; lamps, thorns and bioluminescence give way to hanging lanterns and the sky’s natural light.

Hades breathes deeply; the thick musk and constant deep echo of breath at last behind him, his mood improves.

Stepping lightly into the field, a small green pod gives way to Hades’ footfall and he lightly pushes it aside with his boot; the area is filled with similar bramble pods, scattered between patches of golden grass, undoubtedly, he'll need to be wary of traps within the healthier patches.

“Did we do it?” Hades looks to the sky, indulging briefly in its light.

“Hades, bewa-“ With no time to comprehend his actions, Hermes pushes Hades aside, sending him reeling and plummeting to the grass a full pace away with a hard _thud_ that is accompanied by strangled, inhuman gurgles.

Hades pushes himself up, mired in anger, pain, and worry that is only amplified at the sight greeting him: a tiny tentacled monstrosity with an oversized mouth that would look innocent to any other eye bobs above the fallen, convulsing Hermes.

The anemone: one of Halmarut’s newest experiments; the creation is a flying, pocket-sized morbol that can only be described as a menace.

It must have bloomed from the pod and Hades had been none the wiser. Hermes had –

Hades swallows, banishing the troublesome creation to the aether without a second thought, kneeling beside his companion.

The severity of the anemone’s breath is clear with even inexperienced observation: barely able to move, what little motion Hermes is capable of is stilted and sluggish. Breaths ragged, his skin takes on a shade of purple that Hades can’t be sure is from severe poisoning or from lack of oxygen. 

Hades doesn’t have much time. Already the spell is on his lips.

"I’ll go get help.”

Hermes’ gurgled reply is wholly unintelligible, but a pained, jerked nod is as much acquiescence necessary.

The invocation complete, Hades’ vision fades with his flesh, his soul slipping into the underworld; traversing its rivers, the nearby beacon guides him through their rapids in a flood both colored and colorless beyond all sense.

Hades reforms with a familiar pulling tingle, nigh on top of two individuals deep in discussion by the temporary aetheryte. The duo recovers from the surprise quickly and, in his panic, only upon Persephone’s approach does Hades recognize his beloved. 

“Hades, what’s wrong?” Not even Persephone’s familiar voice soothes the rapid pound of Hades’ heart, its echoes burning his chest and scorching his throat.

“Hermes is hurt in the Garden, you must –“ His explanation hoarse and panicked, Persephone’s eyes widen at his weakness and words both.

“What-”

“He needs help!” At last, the dam breaks. Building anger, pain, and distress simultaneously release and, unthinkably, Hades raises his voice.

“And you abandoned him at the first sign of hardship?” Even bearing the full brunt of her scorn, Hades barely registers Halmarut’s presence.

“Mother, now is not the time –“

“Don’t be. . .ridiculous. . .mother.” A third voice interrupts; more groan than words, an uncommonly disheveled Hermes stumbles from the aetheryte, holding his side. “I agreed. . .to his. . .help.”

The color has returned to his features, but Hermes used his remaining strength to return, collapsing to his knees and retching, his bile as vile as the anemone’s.

Halmarut has better sense than to argue, rushing forward to her beloved child and pulling out small satchel from her deep sleeve.

“Perhaps we’ll need to lighten the breath. . .” Halmarut murmurs as she draws forth a vial with experienced ease, administering an unknown fluid.

Their tasks complete, Persephone takes Hades’ hand, drawing him away. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

Worry, perhaps, is not the right term, but Hades has no other description for the draining flood of emotions that leave him wanting for rest.

“Thank you for helping mother today. I know she can be difficult.” _‘Difficult’_ is certainly a pleasant description of Halmarut. “Did you enjoy the maze?”

“Not particularly. Did you finish your collaboration?”

Persephone nods, twining fingers with Hades and leading him from the park and onto Amaurot’s familiar streets. “I’m looking forward to doing the maze together later. There’s something at the end –“

If Persephone’s laughter is evidence, Hades’ lips must have turned unpleasantly, but he needs not confirm his inevitable acceptance. Wherever Persephone might go, so does he follow.

They walk through the sunset in blessed, peaceful silence; at last absent fear, irritation, or passive aggression, Hades indulges in the void of silence, his mind clear of distraction.

“But Hades. . .” He blinks, looking over to his curious lover. “-that smell . . .?”

 _Ah_ , yes. The mandragoras. Persephone’s teasing smile reveals the need for no answer; theirs is a scent well known in Halmarut’s household.

His demeanor absolutely shifts into displeasure _this_ time.

“I rather not talk about it.”

Even in his absence, Hades knows Hythlodaeus is laughing.


End file.
